


The Livejournal of Arthur Pendragon

by themadlurker



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Comment Fic, Community: camelot_fleet, Crack, Diary/Journal, Episode: s02e03 The Nightmare Begins (Merlin), Episode: s02e04 Lancelot and Guinevere, Episode: s02e05 Beauty and the Beast, Gen, Jealous Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), no one appreciates Arthur properly, or his poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-04
Updated: 2009-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28126935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themadlurker/pseuds/themadlurker
Summary: Words fail me, I must express my grief in verse alone...we cannot have our cakeand eat it tooas I discoveredyesterdaywhen I ran out of cake
Kudos: 2





	1. Arthur's Nightmare Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by [londonparticular](http://londonparticular.dreamwidth.org/)'s comment on early S2 episodes: "Merlin needs a smack and Arthur needs a livejournal to write his emo poetry in."

Dear flist,

By the way, why do I have such a small flist? Don't you people realize I am the PRINCE of CAMELOT? Bow down before me, minions!

So, uh, do you think I should do one of those friending memes? Or, is there maybe a community for announcing how AWESOME I am? It's utterly ridiculous that you three are the only ones reading my MAGNIFICENT entries.

Anyway.

Merlin is such a jerk. He brought Morgana flowers today because she's all pretty and feminine and her room caught on fire and stuff. Now, I know for a fact that Gwen brings Morgana flowers all the time. Finally I thought she must have explained to Merlin that this was a kind and considerate thing for a servant to do. But does he bring me flowers? No. He brings them to Morgana, as if she needed even more when Gwen is already bringing them to her all the time. It's like Merlin's forgotten he's MY servant. For heaven's sake, I brought HIM a flower when he was sick, you'd think he'd get around to reciprocating at some point. So that's all I wanted to say, really:

WHERE ARE MY FLOWERS, MERLIN?

I wrote a poem about this. I know some of you have asked me to put my poetry under an "lj-cut" but I don't understand how this works, so you'll just have to experience the AWE and MAJESTY of my SOULFUL WORDS on your friends pages. I realize it's overwhelming, but it will also broaden your minds.

> #### Flowers
> 
> ##### by His Royal Highness, Prince of Camelot, Future High King of Albion, Arthur Pendragon
> 
> I brought you  
>  flowers  
>  many perfect petals  
>  crushed  
>  by those who would part us  
>  but resolute  
>  unbroken  
>  with the steadfastness of my love.
> 
> black dungeons  
>  depths of despair  
>  and creepy spiders  
>  could not hinder me  
>  your love  
>  like a light  
>  that was not at all metaphorical  
>  guided my path back  
>  to you.
> 
> why have you crushed  
>  the sweet essence  
>  of my perfumy love?  
>  why do you offer these sweet tokens  
>  to my enemy?  
>  can it be that you have forgotten  
>  so lightly  
>  o cruel one  
>  those sunny  
>  frolicking blossoms  
>  with which I granted you  
>  my heart
> 
> you bastard
> 
> THE END

What do you think? Should I submit it to the Camelot Herald?

Constructive criticism is welcome, but if you say anything bad about me I'll have you thrown into the dungeons, or put in the stocks, or executed, so no trolls please.

P.S. How do I turn off anonymous commenting? Some jerkface keeps laughing at my DEEP and MEANINGFUL words. SIGN YOUR NAME COWARD. LET'S SEE HOW FUNNY YOU ARE WITH A SWORD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally [posted as commentfic](https://camelot-fleet.dreamwidth.org/11617.html?thread=1290081#cmt1290081) on the camelot_fleet community


	2. Arthur and... Lancelot and Guinevere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur writes more poetry to express his feelings.

> These consequences follow  
>  each irrevocable  
>  we cannot have our cake  
>  and eat it too  
>  as I discovered  
>  yesterday  
>  when I ran out of cake

It's still a work in progress. I've been feeling very Philosophical lately, which makes it difficult to finish my poems, as I keep getting distracted by Deep and Meaningful Thoughts about the Nature of the Universe... I think it was something in the soup last week. Or maybe it's the result of yet another Scorned Love. You see, I recently attempted to transfer my affections to Guinevere, on the theory that she might be better at bringing me flowers, but it turns out she would rather hold hands with Lancelot, so now I am back to square one. However, Gaius says that this is not the cause of my stomach ulcers and I must defer to his medical opinion.

That story about the cake is true, by the way. It was a very disheartening moment and it was doubly difficult to bear because my father was very unfeeling on the subject. I tried to write a poem about that, too, but I couldn't get past—

> hardship breeds wisdom,  
>  my father says,  
>  but he got the last seed cake  
>  so he can't talk

—and that's when my stomach started convulsing. Gaius has prescribed mint for poetry and dyspepsia, but so far only my digestion has improved.

And still no one is bringing me flowers. Console me, flist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally [posted on dreamwidth](https://themadlurker.dreamwidth.org/26563.html)


	3. Arthur's Beauty and the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Merlin was going to spy on anyone naked, it should have been Arthur. It was his mirror, after all.

Words fail me, I must express my grief in verse alone...

> was this bare expanse  
>  of manliness  
>  not enough for you?  
>  but you must spy  
>  and with mine own  
>  now shattered  
>  mirrored eye  
>  upon some other,  
>  distant,  
>  inaccessible?
> 
> when I have open laid  
>  all unconcealed  
>  for your lusty gaze  
>  the fullest splendour  
>  of my love  
>  handles  
>  (by that  
>  I mean  
>  my lean  
>  and glistening musculature  
>  I'm not fat  
>  or anything)
> 
> do you not see  
>  in quivering winter winds  
>  how peaked the rosy buds  
>  revealed lie  
>  shown at their best  
>  upon the hairy pillow of  
>  my manly chest?
> 
> and would you  
>  seek a better sight?  
>  spread wide the window,  
>  letting loose  
>  that quivering, dwindling flame  
>  to fly into the night?  
>  'tis not my love  
>  you lose  
>  but the fire in my blood
> 
> if in the dark and gloomy end  
>  of this round year  
>  I should repine and fail  
>  that burden on your head  
>  must fall  
>  you jerk
> 
> already do I feel  
>  within my battered,  
>  wounded breast  
>  a sore and phlegmy cough  
>  and deeper still  
>  the icy chill  
>  of torment
> 
> for o how cruel!  
>  not only my heart  
>  but mirror too  
>  now cannot say  
>  nor will not  
>  any more than you  
>  proclaim  
>  how pretty I am

ETA: I know I said in my last post that if you didn't have anything nice to say you should shut up or take the consequences, but as this seems to have inhibited my grateful readers from the full expression of their emotional responses to my work, I have decided to allow 'constructive criticism' on my latest composition.

Just don't forget, I can still have you executed if you hurt my feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally [posted on dreamwidth](https://themadlurker.dreamwidth.org/26676.html)


End file.
